


Wildflowers II

by bonoffee



Series: Wildflowers [2]
Category: U2
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, baby!u2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonoffee/pseuds/bonoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not for the first time, Edge wonders if this was a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildflowers II

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the fabulous needleandspoon for the beta and the support.

  


Not for the first time, Edge wonders if this was a good idea. He looks across the room, at the people and the mess, and marvels at Bono's ability to create chaos at very short notice. It's true that the band has suddenly become everyone's favourite topic of conversation, yet somehow Edge finds it disconcerting to have a houseful of people he knows only vaguely, if at all. He picks up a beer and walks over to where Adam is standing, talking to a red-headed girl. She has a necklace made of safety pins, and her eyes are all soft as they focus on Adam.

"Sorry. 'Scuse me." Edge bumps Adam's arm and receives a polite gaze in return. "Have you seen Bono?"

"I think he went upstairs. Ali came over." Adam smiles. Edge doesn't. It's all too typical for the leader of the party to vanish and leave others to keep order. 

Moving away from Adam and the girl, shouldering his way through the crowd, Edge ventures into the kitchen, where the photograph of him and Dik has been dislodged from its usual place on the fridge door. He picks it off the floor and squints at it. They're laughing, or rather Edge is; Dik is speaking and gesticulating, probably sounding ridiculously intelligent. Edge can't remember, which is displeasing, but he replaces the photo anyway, pressing down the ladybird magnet. He crosses to the window, sets down his can and stares out at the garden. 

This is the best thing, he tells himself. The best thing for the band. The only real option. Logically. Four's a better number. Five would never work. And commitment, they need commitment. Dedication. A tightness, an equality. 

Ticking the boxes is easy, of course. Lists are natural. Beyond that, the fuzziness, is what's causing Edge to tighten his grip on the kitchen counter and to find his eyes damper than usual.

"All right?" 

Edge blinks and looks around at Larry, whose face is a bit shiny. "Yeah. You?"

"Yep." Larry takes a bag of crisps from the table. "Can I have these?"

"Go ahead. They're not mine." Edge hops up onto the counter; Larry does the same. They lean back against the cabinet. The silence is okay, not oppressive, tolerable. Edge likes Larry, but he's not certain Larry likes him. 

"There's a girl." Larry rustles the bag a bit too long and then makes a big deal of selecting the next   
crisp for consumption. 

"There's a girl," Edge repeats, quietly, watching Larry lick salt off his fingers. "At the party?"

Larry nods. "I think. I think she fancies me." He manages to sound not entirely impressed, but the brightness on his cheeks tells a different story, one Edge is happy to pay attention to. This is a whole new sort of Larry-conversation, and it's like an intricately woven spell - one wrong move and it will disappear, leaving nothing behind, as if it never existed. 

"Did you get to speak to her? It's pretty loud in there." Nicely phrased, even if Edge says so himself. Larry makes a funny movement, an alloy of shrug and nod.

"Yeah. I suppose. She's called Ciara." A couple of crisps later, he adds, "Go to the pictures, maybe."

"That's a nice idea," Edge replies, tilting his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "There's always something good on." He doesn't ask what happened to that other girl, Ann he thinks her name might have been, because it wouldn't work. Wouldn't balance. Too much would tip the scales. But this is fine.

"Bono fucked off, then." Larry puts the bag to his mouth to catch the remaining crumbs. Edge glances at him and is caught by how pretty he looks, neck exposed, skin smooth, lips parted and hungry. It's hard to figure out why Larry stumbles and stutters around women when he is so attractive. Edge knows the world doesn't work that way, that confidence doesn't always follow looks, that  _a_  doesn't necessarily mean  _b_ , but he doesn't really understand why. He is sure that if he were lucky enough to have lovely eyes and lots of blonde hair, he would find asking Aislinn out rather easy. As it is, he hasn't heard from her in three days.

"Apparently." Edge jumps down from the counter, brushing down his jeans, and drains the last of his beer. "I'd better go and fetch him, actually. Want him to throw out that guy in the corner. I'm sure he's been taking something."

Larry's eyes widen a little. Edge heads to the door, slides it back open, turns to Larry again. "You should ask her out, you know. The girl." And then he leaves the room before either of them can comprehend that Edge has given Larry love advice.

Out in the living room, there is no sign of the party abating. There is no sign of Adam, either. The red-headed girl has vanished, too. Edge gives the revellers a cursory glance, enough to confirm Bono is not among them, and then he darts past them, out to the hall and upstairs, where it appears all the doors are closed. There are bizarre noises emanating from a couple of the rooms, including Edge's own, and he suppresses the urge to run away, run to a far-off place where house parties don't exist and so-called friends aren't responsible for a probable grounding-period of, oh, at least six months. 

The bathroom, when Edge goes in, is occupied by Adam and the girl. She's pressed weirdly against the window, it looks quite uncomfortable, though her groans seem borne of pleasure rather than pain. Adam's curls are hanging in his eyes, his body only half-naked, his arms braced against the wall, and Edge notices how the two of them are barely touching, apart from the place where, well, they most certainly are. It's the kind of situation that shouldn't be interrupted, but Edge has to, if only to stop his mother's towels from a fate worse than unravelling. 

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, pushes a hand into his jeans pocket. 

"Adam?" 

"Adam! Oh, God!" The girl's shriek echoes horribly, comically, off the tiles.

Edge feels his cheeks burn. Okay, so he wasn't expecting this to turn into a chorus. He scuffs the toe of his shoe into that dent in the linoleum his father keeps saying needs to be fixed. 

Clear throat, try again. Don't look, don't fucking look at anything apart from Adam's face. Actually, no, let's look at the tile pattern, because Adam's face is just odd. 

"Adam? Ad'?" No response, apart from in Edge's trousers, a development he hadn't quite foreseen. He shifts from foot to foot and decides if third time is not lucky, he's taking it as a sign and getting out of there. 

"Adam!"

It works, maybe because Edge sounded a little demented, and Adam starts, looking around until his eyes find Edge's and they stare at each other. The girl looks from one to the other and then smacks Adam on the arm, demanding he keep going, but he doesn't. Edge is very aware of where he is, of what he is seeing, of the gap that exists between him and Adam; it gets smaller and bigger by turns, and makes Edge feel dizzy, confused.

"Sorry, uh." He pushes his fingers through his hair again, noting how damp it feels. "Just, could you, um, not be in here? Erm, my mum's stuff and everything." He drops his hand, nods at Adam and exits faster than he knew he could move. 

Only when the door is shut behind him does Edge let himself breathe properly. Everything is tight, constricted, and he isn't sure that's a good sign. He realises there is no sound from the bathroom now, and bites his lip. He wants to go back in, if only to apologise for his interruption, but he can't. Of course he can't.

He wants to.

It takes a couple of seconds for him to recall what his mission had been in the first place. Find Bono, get rid of the weird guy downstairs. Preferably before any parents decide to make a return. It's not an easy prospect, with a packed house; Bono could be anywhere. He can disappear for hours with people he met ten seconds before, and it's a skill Edge sometimes wishes he possessed. He imagines life would be simpler if he could just walk up to people and talk to them and charm them into doing whatever he wanted. That sort of control must, he reckons, be mind-bending. Mind-altering. 

Maybe a little scary, though. The kind of thing Edge would go over to look at, but step back from taking it for himself. 

Staying behind his guitar, that'll do just fine.

He's just about to knock on the door to his own room - seems silly, but is probably necessary - when he hears his name, his nickname, called from somewhere behind him, off to the right. The direction of the bathroom. An English accent, come to that, one drawn from the Home Counties, unalterable. 

"Hi," Edge says to the door, and then turns to see Adam, who is shirtless and mercifully unattached. "I'm looking for Bono."

Adam quirks an eyebrow, pulls a cigarette from his pocket with practised hand. "Still?"

"Yeah. You know what he's like." Edge rests against the door, only to stumble backwards when it opens. Two girls run out, giggling, clutching bottles. Edge wants to shout at them, about privacy or something, but they're gone before he gets the chance. Instead, he's left with a room barely discernible as his own. He wanders in, taking a look around at the empty cans, stubbed-out fags and a considerably rearranged record collection. Praying nothing is missing, Edge starts picking up rubbish and tossing it into the small wastebasket he keeps in the corner. He tries not to let this overwhelm him, tries to think of it as fun and merriment and no-harm-done, but it takes some effort. 

"Bad-mannered bastards." 

Edge glances over his shoulder; he'd forgotten about Adam for a moment. Tobacco-smoke plumes drift through the air. Edge wrinkles his nose.

"Could you do that by the window, please?" Okay, so he sounds a little snappish. Not unreasonable, is it? But he can't help the lurch of guilt as he watches Adam obey without question, strolling over to the other side of the room and perching elegantly on the sill. Edge can sense that fair, mild gaze settling on him and tries not to pay it any heed, tries to focus instead on moving things back to where they should be. His inner sanctum has been disturbed; there's a ripple in his calm.

A few minutes of crackly silence pass before Edge hears a rustling, and turns from his position by the door to see Adam picking up rubbish and stuffing it, best he can, into the bin. 

"You don't have to do that," Edge says, although he's quite enjoying the spectacle.

"Of course I do. I've been rather a rude party guest so far," Adam replies with a guilty grin. "Sorry."

Edge shrugs. "It's okay. You're probably the best behaved, to be honest."

Adam's laugh is true, infectious, and Edge finds himself smiling. "Well," Adam says, "I must be losing my touch." He hands a couple of empty wine bottles to Edge. "Bono meant well, I think."

"Uh-huh." Edge nods, knowing his mouth has gone a little tight. He's not sure if he can ever be angry at Bono, not really, not  _truly_  angry, but then again Bono is the only person who can push those buttons usually left untouched. He's never met anyone else who both understands him and doesn't seem to have a clue. It's intriguing, and maybe that's why Edge lets everything slide. He'd rather be around to find out the truth.

"You'd probably prefer it if he meant well in someone else's house. It's all right, though. I can stay later and help you clean up." Adam straightens, brushes his hands together, deftly picks another cigarette from his trouser pocket, vices it between his lips. Edge observes every movement, the elegance; it seems almost decadent, somehow. He vaguely recalls spending time with Adam when they were young,  _younger_ , and in the debris of his memory picks up an image of the two of them eating ice cream on a porch, or in a garden. Outside, anyway. Adam was small and wore spectacles, and he said please and thank you and how do you do. It's too long ago for Edge to remember particular words or ideas, but he knows there was always a sense of decency with Adam. Even now, with all the available sex and the meaningless nights of drinking and occasional drugs, Adam doesn't forget to appreciate people. Or to say please and thank you and how do you do.

Edge wonders how far they might go with this band before things change and people become different.

Maybe it's not so bad about Dik, after all.

He realises Adam is waiting for a reply. "Thanks. I suppose I'd better go back down, see what else is happening." 

Adam nods and falls in behind Edge as they exit the bedroom (bombsite) and head towards the stairs. "Shall we have a drink? Might make things less... stressful?" His smile is slow, easy, nice, and Edge laughs, the first time all evening it's come naturally. 

"Good idea. There's some in the..." 

"Edge!"

An arm around his neck, a mouth close to his ear, and it can be only one person. Edge can smell alcohol, can see masses of dark hair, can feel his heart beating faster.

"Where have you been?" Adam asks, in a voice that isn't urgent or pushy, yet, Edge reckons, still demands an answer. 

"I had to talk to Ali." Bono swipes the cigarette from Adam's fingers and takes a long drag before handing it back. "Told her she has to stop dumping me, y'know?"

"And did she agree?" Edge asks, amused in spite of himself. He's supposed to be angry with Bono, maybe even raising his voice a little, and yet here he is, allowing himself to lean into the embrace, to accept a kiss to his cheek. 

A glance at Adam, whose eyebrows are raised, and Edge can feel his face redden.

"Oh,  _I_  don't know," Bono sighs, in perfect imitation of a long-suffering wife. "I'm afraid my mind-reading skills aren't as good as my singing ones." 

"Goodness. That bad?" Adam laughs, ducking neatly in time to miss Bono's retaliatory swipe, and runs the rest of the way down the stairs. Bono looks at Edge; Edge doesn't look at Bono.

"So. Where have you been all night?" 

Edge shakes his head. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

"Really? Well, great minds! Although I haven't been anywhere. Just around, here and there." He grins and swigs from the bottle in his free hand. 

"I haven't either. Been anywhere," Edge adds at the puzzlement on Bono's face. "Still, you've found me now."

They walk to the bottom of the staircase. Bono offers Edge a turn of the bottle, which he accepts. Neither of them speaks for a few minutes, minutes which seem to Edge to stretch before him like a dusty highway with no end in sight. The usual routine; one of them has to break. 

Edge thinks, it might as well be me.  


  



End file.
